Just over the Franklin County line, Charles Strickland sells fat peaches, juicy corn and perfect watermelons he lines up like prize-winning show dogs — the products of a lifetime spent farming.
At 87, Strickland still runs his farm down a dirt path off U.S. 401, where the locals know to call ahead for a bushel of butter beans, and the lucky few might hear his special instructions on microwaving corn inside the husk.
But lately, progress started cutting his 30-year-old produce business in half. With 401 widened from two lanes to four, and the right lanes blocked on both sides, cars have a hard time navigating the U-turn and orange-cone-dodging required to reach his fresh country produce.
“You have to near-about make a 90-degree turn,” said Strickland, drawing a diagram of his driveway in the dirt with his cane. “I think it’s done hurt me 50%. A lot of people will ride by. They call me and I say, ‘You got to make a U-turn and come back.’”
Strickland Farms sits in the middle of a long-awaited, highly-touted road widening between Raleigh and Louisburg, which is turning a slow, two-lane road into a divided highway and cutting through farmland accustomed to tractor traffic.
The project makes economic development a goal, allowing more room for Raleigh’s explosive growth. But at least so far, the old-school way of earning a dollar has gotten tougher. For a lifelong farmer and house painter who can point to his grandfather’s house, a four-lane highway doesn’t necessarily translate to selling more cantaloupes.
But on Saturday, Strickland Farms found some relief from an unlikely source: a Facebook post.
Appealing to Franklin County’s growing pains, the post urged all passing cars to stop and help Strickland clear out thousands of pounds of just-picked produce. And like social media on its best days, the post worked.
“Last Saturday and Monday,” Strickland said, “it was like the State Fair. Had four of us working in there.”
As if on cue, an SUV pulled down his dirt driveway, and the driver rolled down the window where Strickland sat in his golf cart.
“There was a post on Facebook that you all got some corn here,” said the woman at the wheel.
“Pull right up there in the shop,” Strickland said.
He hopes business will bounce back once the road is complete and “all the cones and junk” get moved.
But it will be a faster traveler passing his driveway, heading for busier things than a wheelbarrow full of corn. But at 87, he knows people will still seek out corn full of goodness you can’t buy in a supermarket.
“You can go over there and get four ears for a dollar,” he said. “But if it’s as good as mine, I’ll give your four ears.”
He pauses and smiles.
“Don’t put that in the paper.”
This story was originally published July 13, 2023, 6:00 AM.
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